“My name is Tiffany and I’m a recovering texter.”

“Hi Tiffany.”

It starts off with just a few, and then before they know it, they just can’t stop. Ever.

You can usually tell by the blank expression.

They can be sitting in a restaurant, at the library, or even lounging in a corner of your own home.

They’re everywhere.

They’re teens, and they’re texting.

Now I remember when I was a young tween/teen. I had to dial a rotary phone with the click, click, click, click uphill both ways and in the snow. But seriously, all I wanted to do was talk on the phone to my friends. It was the dark ages before call waiting, and any and all phone calls were subject to the whims of other family members. Not to mention the fear of having a parental unit or sibling pick up a phone in another part of the house and have themselves a nice little eavesdrop.

I think perhaps in my late teens my parents reluctantly paid extra for call waiting, but I was under strict instructions to ALWAYS answer the other line, and if they found out someone they knew was trying to call and I didn’t click over, I was in a world of trouble.

But this generation?

Their cellphones give them all access, all the time. There is nowhere that they cannot connect with their friends, and when it would be deemed otherwise rude to talk out loud to their friends, they simply text. Even while sitting right next to each other. Like I said, you can always tell by the blank expression. Then, just look down at their hands, and those thumbs will be going for all they are worth, poor little things. I worry that young people will have an epidemic of carpal tunnel syndrome, I really do.

Having friends is great, but is all this texting too much of a good thing?

Take this young teen, who in one month sent 14,528 text messages. Her father would have received a 440 page bill, but thank goodness the provider decided to save some trees. He also worked out that she would have been texting every two minutes a day to reach a number that high, although it does includes texts received as well as sent. Luckily, the family was signed up for unlimited texting.

But still, I fail to see any type of silver lining there.

I think the lesson here would be to not sign up for unlimted texting, and have them pay for any overages. This age group is not particularly known for their restraint and self-control, so let’s stop being enablers and cut off their access to the texting crack. Because dude, texting is whack.

Well, it doesn’t quite have the same ring, but you know what I mean.

Have you had your fill of chick flicks yet? Here’s one that kicks Bridget Jones et al to the curb, without being in-your-face feminist.

Directed by Michelle Lehman, last year’s Tropfest Australia winning film, Marry Me, tells a little love story about “a little girl who likes a little boy and a little boy who likes his BMX bike”. The film was inspired by a true story when director, Michelle, at 5 years of age, would chase Jason Mahooney around the school in a pretend wedding dress (her mother’s nightie).

We here in the Manolosphere encourage superfabulousness of clothing and shoes, of course, but there’s a limit. Suri Cruise’s thousand dollar Louboutins are over the limit. Viggo Mortensen’s bare feet in the snow are over the limit. And these? These are so far over the limit they should be thrown in the drunk tank.